


Prescient

by Terminallydepraved



Series: Works for Others [50]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Love Bites, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terminallydepraved/pseuds/Terminallydepraved
Summary: “What are you doing over there?” he tried next, nodding towards the blade in his lap. “Maintenance?” It looked plenty sharp already.Yamamura’s hand paused mid-swipe. “Making noise,” he answered stiffly, keeping his eyes on his blade and nowhere else.He could count the number of times he had heard Yamamura’s voice on one hand and have fingers left over. “Noise?”Yamamura bobbed his head. He finished the pass of his whetstone, then did it again.





	Prescient

**Author's Note:**

> the lovely artdork707 on tumblr wanted some bloodborne rare pair and here we are! these two were a lot of fun to write and i think theres a lot of promise for them as a ship if you look at them long enough. enjoy!

The putrid screams of dying vermin echoed in Valtr’s ears like tinnitus born of the damned. 

A weak smile stretched his lips— anymore and he’d let the cursed blood coating his skin into his mouth. There was a time and place for everything, including that, but now? Oh, not now. Valtr pulled off his helmet as he shouldered through a door, the latest in the League’s long string of workshops. There were more and more of them these days, arising from the ashes of iniquity to give way to the increasing numbers of their order. A glorious thing, to be sure, and convenient in moments like this when one was fresh from the hunt, soaked in filth, and in need of nothing more than a wash, a rest, and an eager ear upon which to recount the tale responsible for it all. 

Tonight, however, seemed to be a poor night for the latter. The old building was as silent as the grave upon Valtr’s arrival, the outer lantern lit but no sign of life within. Valtr took in the dusty floor, the splatters of old blood that speckled it a testament to the solitude ahead of him. Valtr frowned and scuffed the floor with the toes of his boots as he walked deeper into the narrow hall. He’d been so looking forward to drinking the night away with good company. After an evening of bloody conquest, it only felt right. 

“Just my luck,” he grumbled under his breath. Valtr peeled off his outer coat and draped it over his arm, heading for the main room. “No laughs, no drinks, no—”

He stopped short a step past the threshold, a pair of dark eyes locked on him from across the room. Valtr startled, then laughed a little. So, that was why it was so empty in here. He should have known. 

As Master of the League, Valtr prided himself on personally knowing each and every one of his fellow confederates. While his relationship with them might vary in depth, he still tried his best to engage with them all when the opportunity presented itself. And, by and large, he had been successful in doing that. The one blight on his record of camaraderie was the one who sat across the room now. 

Yamamura was a quiet one. Solemn. Some called him gloomy, but Valtr didn’t quite see it that way. There was too much going on behind his eyes to write him off just like that. He was a man on a mission, of that there was no doubt; what that mission entailed, however, was a truth he wasn’t quite willing to share. Some avoided him because of that; how could you trust a fellow when you didn’t know what he fought for? For Valtr, though, it hardly mattered. Yamamura had taken the oaths just as the rest of them had. He had bound himself to their sacred duty, confederates one and all, and as far as Valtr had witnessed, he’d done as he’d sworn to do. 

“My apologies,” Valtr rasped, taking in Yamamura nestled in his far corner. He tossed his coat down onto a nearby bench, placing his helmet down beside it. The blood coating both glistened wetly in the wane light. Valtr cleared his throat. “I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Tonight found the man in the same maudlin mood he always seemed to wear around his fellow compatriots, sparse as the number might be at the moment. Yamamura sat in a spindly chair far from the fire, eyes turned towards the wall as he ran a whetstone along the sharp blade of his long, thin sword. Just like the rest of him, his blade was a mystery. It’d been the subject of some talk when he’d first arrived from the East. More than one had made mention of it resembling the blades wielded by the vermin of Cainhurst…

Yamamura, when pressed, had simply stayed silent. 

Valtr rolled his head on his shoulder, sucking on his teeth. When asked about most things the man tended to stay mum, just as he was doing now. The rhythmic sweep of the whetstone was better conversation than Yamamura on a good day. Not good odds for a proper evening, all things considered. 

Hmm. 

Valtr didn’t let it deter him. He moved deeper into the room and set to stripping away his weapons and coat and all the other pieces to his mobile arsenal that might inhibit his comfort for the evening. They made a nice, bloody pile on the floor, and Valtr paused before the fire, hands stretched out to drink in the warmth.

“Rather chilly night, isn’t it?” he said aloud, eyes flicking towards the only sign of life in the place. The whetstone paused for an instant, then continued on its way. Valtr frowned. “My work took me out past the chapel. The walk back would have numbed me to ice were it not for the fever of battle keeping me warm.”

Yamamura didn’t even bother to lift his head. Valtr’s hands curled into fists, frustration mounting. Why wouldn’t he react? All of his other confederates would pounce at the chance to regale one another with tales of battle and victory over the vermin they had all sworn their efforts against. He’d know Yamamura had his own reasons for being here, for doing what he did, but this was getting ridiculous. 

“What are you doing over there?” he tried next, nodding towards the blade in his lap. “Maintenance?” It looked plenty sharp already. 

Yamamura’s hand paused mid-swipe. “Making noise,” he answered stiffly, keeping his eyes on his blade and nowhere else. 

He could count the number of times he had heard Yamamura’s voice on one hand and have fingers left over. “Noise?”

Yamamura bobbed his head. He finished the pass of his whetstone, then did it again. 

Valtr chewed the inside of his cheek. He found a nearby cloth and began to wipe the blood from his face. “Any reason why you need to make noise?”

“Why does anyone make noise?” Yamamura muttered, his head bent so far forward over his work that Valtr could only see the top of his head. “To drown out the voices.”

Huh. Alright then. Blood gone, Valtr dropped the cloth beside his soiled coat. “Making noise, is it…” Well, perhaps even a man as prone to silence as the elusive Yamamura struggled with the solitude of his own company too. If that were indeed the case though… 

Valtr looked around the room with new determination. It wasn’t fully furnished or very homey. The room they were in now could comfortable house a handful of hunters and their things, a workbench off against the wall with repair tools, and a small table situated adjacent to the fire where hunters could take a meal in, ideally, good company. Along the walls were bottles of tinctures and oils, medical equipment, and even— 

Valtr narrowed his eyes and grinned viciously as he spotted a familiar bottle half hidden behind a few dusty old vials. He crossed the room and snagged it from the shelf, stomping over to Yamamura’s table with new energy.

Valtr was going to get his conversation, and Yamamura was just going to have to suffer through it. 

There were a few cups of questionable origin and cleanliness already resting on the table, shoved to the side to make room for Yamamura’s blade care kit. Valtr kicked out a chair and sat down, dragging two cups to him. He pulled out the cork plugging the bottle of ale and smiled a little wider when he noticed he’d finally gotten the other hunter’s attention. 

“Have some,” Valtr said, filling both cups and pushing one towards the man. If there was a better way to drown out the voices in one’s head, he hadn’t met it yet. “It’s cold and utterly rank, but it grows on you. I promise.” 

Yamamura lifted his eyes from his whetstone and raised a brow. He looked at the cup of questionable ale—for that, Valtr could hardly blame him—and delivered unto him the most deadpan look Valtr had ever seen. 

Fighting back a bark of laughter, Valtr lifted his cup and gestured for the man to do the same. “Come on now, let’s do this. You aren’t scared, are you?” 

Yamamura frowned at that. He eyed the cup, then looked at Valtr. He’d removed his hat and coat and sat in his strange, foreign clothes. They were ornate in a way that Valtr was unaccustomed to, but the effect was pleasing all the same. 

In fact, most of Yamamura was pleasing to the eye. He did his best to keep people from noticing--at least, that was how it came off in Valtr’s opinion—always hiding behind that wide-brim hat, always lurking in the corners, away from the rest. His face was pleasantly symmetrical, his facial hair trimmed neatly and well. His long hair was kept at bay with a ribbon, and the color was rich, dark, glossy. Valtr drank in the hunter’s looks in anticipation of the drink still waiting in his hand. Yamamura sighed after another moment of consideration, and lifted his own cup just as Valtr readied himself to weedle a little more desperately. 

“What are we drinking to?” he asked, stunning Valtr. This of all things got his attention?

“Pardon?”

Yamamura frowned at his drink as if confused by its very existence. “Do you not drink to things in this city?”

Valtr ran a hand through his hair. “What is there to drink towards?” Only a tone deaf fool would drink to another’s health in a place like Yharnam, and to drink to the city itself was to drink to the vermin infestation teeming within its walls. 

“To something meaningful. Something deserving of it.” 

Valtr curled his lips into a grimace. What an odd custom. “Nothing springs to mind,” he admitted. “I’ll yield to you on the why, so long as you consent to drink.”

Yamamura cracked the ghost of a smile at that. He swirled his drink in the cup, then extended it towards Valtr. “This is the custom here,” he said quietly, brushing the cup against Valtr’s gently. “We’ll do it your way, and drink to you.”

“To me?” He chuckled and shrugged, leaning back in his seat. Perhaps that was some misplaced sense of hierarchy at work. Drinking to the Master of the League. How novel. But if it gave him reason to drink at all, Valtr would take it. He smiled at Yamamura. “I suppose I can drink to that.” 

They both lifted the cups and drained them dry. Tears pricked Valtr’s eyes immediately. The ale really was foul, coating his mouth and laying too heavily along it in a way that wasn’t palatable in the slightest. He swallowed without coughing overmuch, pleased to see Yamamura had managed about as well as he had. The man had his hand clapped over his mouth, eyes glaring hotly at the cup as if it had wronged him. A pleasant fire burned down Valtr’s throat, curling into a content ember in the pit of his stomach. He laughed and poured them both another serving. 

“I hope you weren’t intending on leaving tonight,” he warned Yamamura as he readied them both for another shot. “We aren’t done until this bottle is empty.”

“You’re a masochist,” Yamamura returned, not turning the new drink away. 

“Well, when the shop is empty and all the beasts and vermin cold outside, one must do what one can to find diversion in any way possible.” He clacked their cups together and leaned forward on the table, hoping Yamamura could read the challenge in his gaze. “Now. Here’s to  _ you,  _ my friend. Bottom’s up.”

By the time the bottle was reaching its final dregs, two hours had passed them by and left them both warm, relaxed, and louder than any might have thought possible considering who it was responsible for the noise. Valtr had abandoned his seat halfway through the bottle, cup sloshing over his hand with every grand gesture he made as he recounted— _ finally— _ the details of his latest hunt. Yamamura was prone to interrupting, his goatee slick and shiny with drink, to debate the veracity of the account. 

“You cannot tell me you simply sliced through three of them at once,” the man slurred, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That’s just— prepost...prepors…” He scowled and downed the rest of his cup, slamming it down on the table. “That’s just bull.”

“Bull? _ Bull?!”  _ Who even taught him the word? Valtr drained the rest of his cup to match and tossed it down onto the table, barely noticing that it landed on its side and tumbled to the floor a moment later. He swayed towards Yamamura, grabbing the man by the lapel to pull him to his feet. “I’ll show you bull! Just— Just stand right here, and I’ll show you.”

Yamamura raised a condescending brow. Over the course of the evening Valtr had been pleased to find a wry sense of humor hiding below all of the standoffishness. “There’s only one of me,” he pointed out, using one hand to brace himself against the spindly table. “Can’t cut through three if there’s only one, which I think proves my damn point.”

Valtr shook his head so hard that he nearly tipped himself over. He tangled his hands in Yamamura’s shirt to keep on his feet. It brought them close together, but with the drink and the argument dulling their common sense, it hardly felt out of line. 

“No, no, no,  _ no,”  _ Valtr rattled, shaking Yamamura as much as he could without sending them both to the floor. “You just— You just need to see it my way. It’s perfectly possible. You just—”

“I just?” Yamamura snorted, wrapping his hands around Valtr’s wrists. “You’re drunk, Master Valtr. Admit it.”

Maybe he was. Maybe they both were. Valtr narrowed his eyes and looked deeply into Yamamura’s. “Never,” he rasped, flicking his gaze away, only just realizing how close they were to one another. A shot of clarity rolled through him, chased next by a wave of heat. Yamamura’s hands were locked around his wrists. He tested their hold; they didn’t budge. 

There was silence for a moment, heavy and weighted. It settled over them like a wool blanket. The crackle of the dying fire was nearly hypnotic. Valtr licked his lips. He didn’t miss how the other man’s pupils dilated in response. 

Valtr couldn’t tell who moved first—who  _ acted  _ first on the energy filling them both. It happened so fast, yet so gradually. In the span of a languid blink their faces were mere inches apart. In another, they were touching, just like that. 

The fire crackled again, and time seemed to rush in to fill some unspeakable vacuum Valtr had no words to describe. He put it from his mind. It didn’t matter now how it had happened. It was happening  _ now,  _ and that was what mattered. 

The brush of the man’s goatee sent a shiver down Valtr’s spine. Yamamura was gentle, almost hesitant with his touch. His fingers carded through Valtr’s hair, a far cry from the yanking and biting he’d come to relish when falling into bed with one of his confederates. It wasn’t… bad, per se, but gentleness had never suited Valtr, and he didn’t wait patiently for it to gradually become more his speed. 

He lunged forward, one hand fisting itself in Yamamura’s hair—soft, silk, entirely too fine for a city like this—and the other seizing the man’s shoulder. They were of a height, but Valtr was slightly taller; it wasn’t difficult to push his advantage and back Yamamura up against the wall, chasing his tongue with all the ferocity a hunter should have.

Valtr grinned into the kiss when Yamamura responded in kind, eschewing his gentleness to grab at his body and pull just as roughly. A knee parted Valtr’s legs, grinding into his growing hardness. The scent of blood and sweat filled his head like a miasma. He broke the kiss to pant against Yamamura’s collar. Gods Above, this felt so much better than sitting in stony silence had. 

“We could have— Is there any ale left? We could drink to this,” Valtr suggested, drawing his gaze down with his hands to feel the silk of Yamamura’s shirt. “If you want.”

“Shut up,” the man rasped, yanking at Valtr’s belt. “You’re tolerable company when you aren’t speaking.”

_ Rude,  _ Valtr thought,  _ but probably true.  _ He laughed instead of arguing the point, starting in on Yamamura’s clothing as he was in turn undressed. Belts and straps and buckles fell away, outer layers clattering to the floor in heaps of fabric and leather. Valtr growled when he finally got a hold of bare skin, almost fever hot in the chill that pervaded the room. Their teeth clacked and lips bled, another kiss going down like fire, like the burn of that swill that lay spilled across the table after Yamamura’s hip clipped the edge and sent the whole thing lurching. Valtr threw his weight forward and knocked them both to the floor. 

Yamamura hit the ground first with a breathless huff. Valtr didn’t let him recover before stealing the rest of his breath in another dizzying kiss. He only pulled back when his own lungs began to burn. Valtr rested his forehead against Yamamura’s shoulder and wheezed. Bitter ale coated his tongue, but beneath it all was the tang of blood and the sweetness of shared passion. He swallowed it down eager and lifted his eyes to meet Yamamura’s.

“That was… unexpected.”

Yamamura huffed weakly. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t.”

Valtr smiled guiltily. “You’re right. It wasn’t.” He let his hand run along the open front of Yamamura’s shirt, fingers alighting on bare skin that felt fever-hot. Tension coiled like a spring in his core. The sound of their labored breathing slowly petered out, replaced by silence and marked potential. Valtr bit at his bottom lip, releasing it to ask, “Can I—?” 

The hips pinned beneath Valtr bucked upwards, cutting him off as they both groaned as their cocks aligned and grinded together. “Don’t ask,” Yamamura grated. “Just don’t stop.”

“But there’s no—”

Yamamura locked eyes with him, something beyond desperation holding Valtr in sway. “I don’t care,” he said quietly. “Just don’t stop.”

Valtr swallowed. His flesh felt hot, overheated. He nodded and pulled back, scrambling at his trousers to free his cock. Valtr spat into his hand and coated his cock with it. “Roll over,” he ordered, nodding down at Yamamura. He wouldn’t hurt the other hunter no matter how little Yamamura seemed to care about such things, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t still chase oblivion together. 

Yamamura obeyed, shedding his shirt and tossing it as he rolled onto his stomach. Valtr pumped his cock, allowing himself to savor the sight for a moment— Yamamura was built compact but powerful, muscled and shaped beautifully in line with the work he did in the pursuit of his duties. He eased his hips up and Valtr released his cock to help the man draw his trousers down his thighs. They bunched up around his knees, holding them together.

Yamamura glanced over his shoulder when Valtr stopped him from pulling them any lower. 

“It’ll help,” he told the hunter, lifting Yamamura’s hips a little higher. He pressed the man’s thighs together and hissed as he pushed his cock between the tight channel they made. 

“Oh,” Yamamura breathed, hanging his head in understanding. He snaked a hand between his legs and touched himself with a shudder. “I see.”

They moved as one, each chasing their own pleasure. Valtr fucked forward, back, forward, back, the head of his dripping cock rubbing against Yamamura with each forward thrust. There was no way to make this more than it already was, and even that much was probably more than it should have been to begin with. Valtr gripped his fellow confederate by the hips and rocked forward, fucking between his thighs aggressively even though it was too dry to inspire anything beyond pained pleasure. 

Valtr reveled in it, drinking it in alongside the sight of Yamamura’s powerful back arching and writhing beneath him. The shadows played havoc in the dips and curves of his muscles, casting into stark relief the plains and valleys therein. 

Beautiful. It was beautiful, intriguing even. Yamamura didn’t have as many scars as him, and it left long swatches of skin perfectly clear and pristine and— 

Valtr’s gums itched. His eyes became locked on Yamamura’s perfect nape, and something like instinct sent Valtr lunging for it. 

Yamamura choked out a weak laugh when his teeth buried themselves into his flesh. “Beast-Eater,” he chuffed, writhing beneath Valtr in response. “Not just a rumor, is it?”

Valtr eased out of the bite to laugh after a tense moment of simply savoring the resistance of flesh, the almost buttery give as his teeth sank deep, deeper, marking Yamamura in a way neither of them would forget. Blood poured down his lips, his chin, speckling Yamamura’s strong back like raindrops of filthy gore— but no, no, there was no filth here, no vermin. He rocked his hips forward and they both shared a low moan. No. No vermin. Just purity and everything that came with it.

“We of the League do as we must,” he managed, the memory overlapping the present. It was their duty to eradicate beasts, to aid and honor their fellow confederates. He pressed a sloppy, bloody kiss to the weeping bite mark. “Were you to fall with me in sight, I’d do the same to whatever beast fell you.”

“How… comforting,” Yamamura groaned, hanging his head. His hands clawed at the floor, back arching in an attractive ripple of muscle and shadow. He pressed his cheek to the rug and bucked upwards, and Valtr kept moving, kept rutting between his thighs. The taste of blood was intoxicating to say the least, potent as a hunter’s blood was known to be. Valtr licked his lips, then dipped down to lick at the wound when he craved another sampling. 

If there were grace to be found in their coupling, it wasn’t a clear thing. His hand worked hard to keep Yamamura’s impatience in check. Moisture gathered at the tip of Yamamura’s cock, slicking the way more than spit ever could. 

“Plenty noisy now, isn’t it?” Valtr laughed breathlessly, twisting his wrist just to pull a reedy moan from Yamamura. 

“It’s… You…” Yamamura twisted his shoulders, forcing his body to contort to look behind at Valtr. Valtr expected to see pleasure, dazed want, need; by all means he saw them too. But on top of it all, there was something strange in the way Yamamura looked at him, in the look he threw over his shoulder. Almost desperate, almost… relieved. He seemed to search for something in Valtr’s face, and upon finding it acceptable, pitched forward. He let out a lusty moan and shivered, muscles tensing, back arching to— 

Hot, thick seed coated Valtr’s hand, and Valtr saw red, then promptly white. He kept stroking, kept thrusting, fucking himself between Yamamura’s thighs to milk every ounce of pleasure to be had for the both of them. Sweat stung his eyes and dripped from his chin to add to the mess coating the man beneath him. He bent over, body going lax. Yamamura’s elbows buckled. They tumbled to the floor in a heap of loose muscles and overheated, filthy flesh. 

There was purity yet to be found in impurity, Valtr thought errantly as his cheek met Yamamura’s shoulder. His lips kissed the bloody mark he’d made, and he let the blood coat his teeth once more. There could be no purer act for one of their order. To be made filthy by the filth-less, and pure by the spilled seed coating them both. 

Valtr rolled off of Yamamura and onto his shoulder, panting heavily and grinning like a maniac. Gods! Gods, that was so good. His muscles sang with a deeper ache than hunter could elicit on its own, and he reveled in the feeling, throwing an arm over his eyes and savor the afterglow. Yamamura sounded off in his own world, mumbling under his breath in a rhythmic language beyond Valtr’s ken. Valtr peeked past his arm, taking in the man’s profile. Sweat glistened along his skin, his eyes cracked and staring towards the heavens like a man just granted the sight of something truly to behold. A flicker of pride rolled through Valtr at the thought. 

“You still with me?” he called out, voice husky and rasped. They could both use a drink— water this time, not more shit-tier ale. 

Yamamura’s eyes moved in his direction. At first, it felt as if the look was lacking recognition. The corners of his lips curled downwards. Frustration turned to confusion as he muttered, “It’s quiet now. It wasn’t before, but now it is.”

Raising a brow, Valtr let his arm fall away from his face. He propped himself up on his elbows and scooted a little closer. “It was quiet before too.”  _ Before the alcohol came out,  _ he added silently. That was his doing. Best not to remind the man of it now. “Are you… alright?” Maybe he was still intoxicated. 

But Yamamura just shook his head, closing his eyes. His frown grew, and with it Valtr’s confusion. “You don’t understand.” His lips almost trembled. He curled his fingers like talons and dug them into the wooden floor. “That was… It’s… No one could understand.”

Valtr absolutely didn’t. He came a little closer, resting beside Yamamura on the floor. “I’d like to,” he murmured, reaching out slowly to touch the other man. First his shoulder, and when that wasn’t refused, he went ahead and wrapped it around him completely, pulling Yamamura into a loose embrace. With the fervor of their coupling behind them, the chill of the night was beginning to set in again. The fire would need to be stoked to keep it away, but for now their touching bodies would do. “If you’d tell me.”

Silence. Valtr frowned. He stroked Yamamura’s shoulder, combing gently through his soft hair. He’d think the man asleep if it weren’t for the pronounced frown on his face and the furrow set deeply in his brow. 

“You know,” Valtr said quietly, turning his gaze towards the ceiling. The shadows were at play up in the rafters, ominous and malign. “The others talk about you sometimes. They say you come from a land far off, chasing a beast for your own reasons.” He made himself count the shadows and shades up there instead of looking to see if Yamamura had opened his eyes. “Even if that’s true, you still took our sacred oaths. We’ve granted you the sight of what lays within men’s souls. We suffer the burden as one. All the burdens.”

If he’d just ask, Valtr would held him bear whatever it was burdening him now. 

“There aren’t enough of you to bear its weight,” a low voice whispered against his chest. Just a breath as Yamamura turned towards him, accepting the touch if nothing else. Valtr felt him inhale, felt the cool, slight suction against his collar and the eventual warm release. “If you sensed it, you would stay away. Like the rest. You’d leave me in my corner. You’d drink alone.”

“Yamamura,” Valtr said plainly, drawing the hunter’s attention reluctantly. “Am I or am I not the Master of our order?”

A pause. Then, “You are,” so quietly it was hardly there at all. 

“Then trust me,” Valtr pressed, holding him tighter, tracing strange, shadowy shapes against his skin. “Trust me enough to tell me what it is that keeps you at arm’s reach.” 

Another pause. Yamamura shook as he inhaled. “I... see them.”

Valtr’s hand paused its rhythmic motions. He furrowed his brow. “What do you see?”

Yamamura drew in another shaky, ragged breath. “Vermin.” His shoulders tensed, his entire body drawing tight in Valtr’s arms. “Impurity. I— I see it all, and I see it even when I sleep. When I dream.”

Valtr began to remove his hand, aiming to sit up. “It’s… the League’s burden to see—”

A hand as firm as iron wrapped itself around Valtr’s wrist before it could leave his skin, squeezing tight, threatening to bruise. “No,” Yamamura hissed, eyes locked on the wall, tinged with something…  _ frightening  _ as he stared at nothing, or perhaps everything. His tongue swept his bitten lips. 

“Not like this,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Never like this.”

Something seized in Valtr’s chest. He looked at his wrist, at the hand still gripping it like a lifeline. “You don’t see them now, do you?” he asked. There was something so worrisome flickering in Yamamura’s eyes. It was like… like a tinge of…

No. No, he wouldn’t think that. Not about another confederate. 

Yamamura’s breathing was loud, haggard. He held tight to Valtr and shook his head. “No,” he said in a small, quiet voice. When he looked at Valtr, it was as if he stared into his very soul. “There are none in you. It’s… quiet… with you. So quiet I don’t know what to think.”

That was… a relief, Valtr supposed. One relief in the wake of a wave of discontent. Yamamura closed his eyes, hiding that tinge of  _ something  _ from sight. He leaned in and Valtr didn’t refuse the kiss that followed. He pressed into it, deepened it, and he held the man that clung so tightly to him. The silence of the workshop was weighty now. Valtr did his best to ignore it. At least, he’d ignore it for as long as he could before the pull of the hunt overpowered the hands on his face keeping him here. 

Theirs was a sacred duty, after all. 

That was all there was to it, and all there would ever be. 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed this! if youd like to check out more of my work, visit me at tdcloudofficial.com, and check me out on twitter @tdcloud_writes and tumblr under the name terminallydepraved. until next time!


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